


Of Paragons

by jest_tal



Series: Things We Never Were To Each Other [1]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-19
Updated: 2015-11-18
Packaged: 2018-05-02 08:39:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5241863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jest_tal/pseuds/jest_tal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Three moments in time from both Marian Hawke's and Varric's point of view.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Her armor creaked and clinked quietly, boots chiming against the stone of Lowtown. Marian Hawke knew the streets by heart and, had she needed to, could have walked them with her eyes closed.

Well, perhaps not that. There were some nasty drop offs and some particularly pungent puddles that one must take care to avoid, after all.

However, she knew them very well after seven years and that much was true.

For example, even though she'd been wandering aimlessly for almost an hour she knew without having to think about it that the Hanged Man was only a few winding blocks that-away, the Elven Alienage just a hop to the east, and Gamlen's house nearly up ahead.

Her path, however, led to none of these places. She was walking because she wished to. Because the silence of her house, even with Bodahn's cheery commentaries and Orana's quiet hellos, sometimes became too much for her.

It had taken her over a year after mother died to think of the house as her own, for it to become her little lair and refuge. Still, sometimes Mother's ghost and those of others from the past lingered a little too closely for comfort. So it was off to fresh air, night skies, and with any luck, the occasional hapless mugger to bully about for a bit.

She inhaled deeply. Yes, a random attack right about now would be a welcome thing. The lack of other distractions, people talking, or situations looming was beginning to encourage thoughts that she preferred to keep nicely locked away.  _Yes, yes, be good depressing thoughts and please do stay locked in that trunk over there in the corner._

Ah, this wasn't good at all. She wasn't even amusing herself now. She was used to most other people getting annoyed and tired with her quips, but when they were falling flat in her own head, that was truly bad.

It was simply who she was though, no matter how Fenris scowled at her for it or Anders frowned. She just found a great deal about life, and people, amusing. And, when these things did not amuse her, her jokes at least gave her a place to stand in regards to it all. It helped her keep her feet moving, so to speak, helping her to feint and dodge when things turned on her.

Oh and there'd been so many things turning on her of late, hadn't there? The loss of Carver, like a cut from a red-hot sword. So quick and deep, and yet instantly seared over so that no damage could be seen from the outside. They had needed to keep moving. She'd had to make sure that Bethany and her mother kept moving. There was no time for her tears, especially not when Mother blamed her for it happening in the first place.

And afterwards, when they were safe, she was no more capable of soothing their pain than she was her own. But what she could do was bring in coin and bully them forward when needed.

Bullying and prodding. Those were jobs she could do. And when they needed comfort, well, they'd turn to each other. Just as they'd always done.

Mother and Bethany had always been closer to each other than they ever had been to her. They… understood each other better, after all.

And if that left Marian with her proverbial foot stuck in a bear trap of grief and regret, then so be it. She'd become a master at gnawing off her own legs to find freedom long ago. Even more so now that Bethany was gone to the Circle, distant as a sunrise, and Mother…

It still hurt.

Any disdain or miffed anger she'd had held for Fenris had been forgiven that night when he'd come to sit with her after her mother died.

Poor man. Fenris wasn't quite built for comfort, after all, but then again she wasn't built to really receive it. If he'd come bearing platitudes or starting out hugging her, she'd almost have had to turn him aside with a sharp word or a joke that would offend him. As it was, while just sitting there wasn't exactly helpful in of itself, the silence had done to her what it was doing to her right now.

It left her alone with herself. Made her think about things.

She'd cried, then. He'd awkwardly placed his arm around her shoulder and she'd leaned into him and just… cried.

She wasn't about to cry  _now_ , of course. Whatever would the street rats think? Besides, she'd been feeling too tired of late. The Champion, they called her. And everyone she met looked at her and saw their own need reflected back at them. Everyone. Even her friends.

It was getting to the point where more and more of them were getting her sharp humor instead of sweetness and light. Oh, but she always forgave them when they took advantage of her, eventually.

Fenris, for example. Even before he'd been what she needed, had been her friend after Mother died, she hadn't really been holding a grudge. They would never agree on the subject of mages, and more often than not he seemed to take that fact as a personal affront.

Or perhaps it was the fact that  _unlike him_ , she was capable of keeping a level head, which annoyed him so much!

But when he'd… they'd… when he had left her alone, in that damn bed, afterwards… she'd been angry with him. Angry that he'd gotten all caught up in his own pain once more and couldn't for heaven's sake just step out of it again. To be with her. She hadn't asked him for forever. She wasn't asking for certainties. She just wanted to be with him.

To have someone to hold her for once. To have him care.

Ah well. Some people weren't meant to be loved for themselves. Kicked to the side of the curb and lesson learned.

Well, part of it. If Fenris was a wolf circling, then Anders was a beaten dog nuzzling the hand. And she meant that nicely, truly! Years ago, the only thing that gave her pause about the man was how quickly he took her kindness and flirtations as direct intentions. They hadn't known each other more than a week before he was telling her he'd break her heart. She'd almost quipped that, while that was very dramatic it really  _did_  only work on teenage girls with a flare for bad boys. And she'd long since given that up!

So after Fenris exited stage right, she'd leaned a little more towards Anders. Not to take advantage of the man but, perhaps, just to try and accept some of that affection he threw off like heat. To get to know him and try and be honest.

It was a spectacular disaster. He'd taken it to be something much more than she was ready to give just yet.

She'd thought to try and avoid the confrontation, the now or never moment, but she hadn't been successful. Anders proved to her yet again that men never did well with a "not now, but maybe later" no matter how justified it might be.

Misunderstandings, betrayals, both big and small by nearly everyone. Even Aveline! In fact, now that she brooded upon it, was there a single person who hadn't either stabbed her in the back or smacked her hand away when she needed it.

Fenris? Check.

Anders? He'd taken her trust and used it for something. It was only her fear of him walking away all together that had made her agree to serve as his distraction into the Chantry. She had a dire feeling she'd be regretting that weakness someday and if she stopped to think about it she'd be afraid. Very afraid.

Aveline? Granted, it was only in the Fade, but still. It had bruised her pride and her feelings to know that Aveline blamed her for Wesley's death. It wasn't fair and if it weren't for the fact that she knew Avaline understood that, Marian would have likely shut the woman out. Sometimes, you can't help how you felt, after all, and Aveline was a friend despite it. It wasn't a nice thing to bear, but Marian could handle it.

Isabella? Oh, the very thought of that woman made Marian coldly furious. The sheer scale of the bitch's selfishness was unbelievable. Every death that occurred that night was directly on her shoulders, and Marian wondered one day if she'd be in a position to choose whether Isabella paid for it or not. She hoped so. It wasn't like her to be so grimly vengeful, but in Isabella's case, she'd make an exception.

Merrill? Ah, that one was recent enough to leave the taste of ash and sorrow in her mouth. The girl made it so difficult. Such a light spirit, but so willfully blind. And, unfortunately, the cost of that blindness had been paid by good, innocent people.

The cost of it also meant that Marian couldn't face herself in the mirror anymore without having to harden her heart. She couldn't think about that, couldn't dwell on it, or she'd never be able to smile at the elf again. How was she going to respond to the next letter from a grateful son? Nice to know things are going well in Tevinter, oh, by the way, I killed your mother.

Oh, look. Perhaps crying would be on the agenda again! Marian rolled her eyes. Come see the weeping Champion! Only a silver for a vial of her actual tears.

She snorted and shook her head. Her hand rested familiarly on her sword hilt. What she needed now, on such a night and with such awful introspection nipping annoyingly at her heels, was to get drunk.

Blind, stinking drunk. That would put everything back into proper perspective!

The Hanged Man it was, then, and Varric to enjoy getting all fuzzy-headed with.

She blinked, finding herself somewhat surprised as she considered the dwarf. Actually, that was a good point. She was moping and grousing and picking at all her friends, but she failed to account for Varric.

Ah, Varric! A gem among men and a wonder among friends. He hadn't let her down yet and no one else, except for herself, put in half as much time watching out for their friends and making sure that they were whole and happy! She'd watched him cheer up Merrill, tease Bethany out of her sorrow, and even make Aveline laugh.

She smirked, step jaunty as she fanned these happier thoughts into fuller flame. He was smart, cunning, and an imaginative flatterer. Plus, he was the only one in the group who seemed to truly appreciate her humor! A marvel! And, naturally, this epitome of everything a woman could want in a friend and man had absolutely no interest in getting in her pants.

Ah well. No one, not even the Champion, could have everything, could they?

Marian Hawke laughed quietly and hurried into the bar, smiling without a guarded edge for the first time in days.


	2. Chapter 2

It's funny how things start. How moments and decisions that, when they are first made, seem small can in retrospect become the very things that your future becomes wrapped around. I mean, it wasn't like I was looking to save Kirkwall and become the proverbial right-hand man to a bona fide hero. All I wanted was to make sure that the expedition and my brother both went down into the deep roads and came back again with enough loot to make us all rich.

And yet, here I am, nearly seven years later, still walking the streets and prowling the sewers with Hawke whenever she comes calling.

Hell, I'm not complaining. I'd be bored sitting in some Hightown mansion. And maybe the truth is that if it weren't for Hawke I might not be as civic minded as I've become. Saving runaways and searching for lost books. Sure, I've always been a good guy, kind to children and small animals. But following her around has led me to places I certainly wouldn't have imagined going to on my own.

I've fought a high dragon, for the Maker's sake. An animal that is supposed to be extinct. That's not something everyone gets to boast about, you know.

It's not all adventure and daring escapes, of course. There are nights like tonight. Nights where it's just sitting at a corner table in the Hanged Man, drinking, talking about nothing, and watching the candles burn down.

You see, life's too short and already filled with enough bad things to choke a bronto. That's why it's important to sit back every once in a while and enjoy yourself. Go out and smell the roses, indulge in a little hedonism, flirt with a beautiful girl. It helps keep you centered. Keeps you sane.

I can't tell you how often I've found my peace in a good mug of ale, a story well told, and a sweet pair of … eyes. Especially after we returned from the Deep Roads when Bertrand's betrayal was a fresh wound. Even after he went mad, too, come to think of it. We were never close, but he is my brother. Losing him like that, losing him twice, wasn't exactly easy. But my point is that I got through it, and I didn't let myself become all broody over any of it.

You have to let go of things. You have to take chances and let yourself be free enough to find your happiness where you can.

You wouldn't believe how hard it is to get that concept through to some people. Like Fenris, they are either too serious to allow themselves a moment of pleasure, or like Merrill, too caught up in their current obsessions to come out and see the sunshine.

I can't be too harsh though. Both of them have gotten a taste of what can happen when you don't live a little bit. I don't know what happened between Fenris and our Champion but I can guess. For a hell of a long time after they did whatever it was that they did, she was too quiet around him. Oh, they still talked and fought, just like normal. But the whip-sharp humor she used to throw around like candy fell off in favor of simple, almost bland statements. Like she didn't have the energy to handle him anymore. And he? He had a very hard time meeting her eyes, that's for sure. Couldn't face her, but even today he sure as hell still watches her when she's not looking.

Yeah, he did something stupid. But at least he seems to know it.

I chuckle but Hawke doesn't notice. She's too busy leaning back in her chair and telling a story about something Sandal did the other day. I'm pretty sure that she doesn't realize I'm only half listening. It's damn funny that both Fenris and Anders tread so carefully around her now. I don't know if they are afraid of her, or if they are just pining away for her attention. Sometimes, I figure they don't know either.

Not that I can't see why. Hawke is one in a million and an accidental gazing upon her bathing, so to speak, while we were down in the Deep Roads was more than sufficient to prove that she's fit enough for man, elf or hell, even dwarf to appreciate.

Yeah, she's a friend. And maybe I linger over that memory of that sponge bath, firelight, pale skin and slow motions, a little too often.

But, I'm not a hypocrite and, as I said, sometimes you have to live a little and take your happiness where you can find it.

In any case, she's more relaxed now than she was when she first came in and that's what really matters anyway.


	3. Chapter 3

Varric Tethras couldn't feel his left leg anymore.

He deliberately did not mention this to Hawke.

"So," he grunted, hefting himself up with one hand so that he could leverage his back against the damp wall of the cave to keep from falling over. His other hand remained tightly clamped over his torn stomach.

Their haven, such as it was, was uncomfortable and small, barely deserving of the name cave in the first place. Its only saving grace was that the entrance was so undersized and low to the ground that even if any of the Templers-turned-bandits were foolish enough to keep searching for them out in the blizzard, they would be almost sure to miss it. Of course, there was the danger that the raging storm would seal them in as well, if they hid for too long.

Varric was pretty sure that he wouldn't have to worry about that, though.

Hawke didn't look up, frowning as she started rummaging through the backpack Varric had been carrying with him. Varric repeated himself, "So. Tell me you didn't leave Bianca out there in the cold."

"Had to, Varric," Hawke said. She had found the flint and stone he'd packed for making fires as he travelled, but was still frowning. That might be useful later, provided there was any fuel to burn. But not now. For now, she needed bandages or, if the Maker was feeling very kind, a Healing Potion. She had a sinking feeling, however, that Varric had brought neither with him.

Varric scowled and bared his teeth. He was already hurting like hell and then he had to hear news like that? "Damn it, Hawke!"

"It was either her or you!" Hawke snapped back and looked at him, or rather, looked at the ruin of his leg and the already blood soaked fabric of his duster. "And given that Bianca was in much better shape than you appear to be…"

She grabbed what must have been a spare shirt of his without even stopping to wonder when he'd started wearing things that didn't allow him to show off his chest hair and crouched back at his side. He grumbled, but didn't fight her words or try to fend her off as she did her best to stop the bleeding. "Do you at least remember where you dropped her, then?" He asked testily, only to add in an almost defensive whine, "She's a precision lady. It'll take weeks to fix her if the snow gets… Ow!"

"Sorry…" Hawke winced. Her expression was not just regret though, but open concerned. Open worry. Varric bit back another complaint and watched her come to the realization that he'd had almost immediately after he'd failed to parry the swing from that spiked mace.

It wasn't just bad.

It was very bad.

And, Maker help him, he was having such a hard time thinking through the pain.

He gritted his teeth and closed his eyes rather than risk meeting her gaze or seeing her expression. "It's okay." Though it wasn't, it really wasn't. He hadn't seen her in so long and there was so much that he'd wanted to say. And now it was all just skittering away from him.

Hawke laughed, sound forced. "Maker, Varric. Didn't you even try to dodge?"

He opened his eyes to look at her and feigned indignation. "I'll have you know that I took down four of them before you made your grand entrance." He shuddered, the chill of the stone beneath him or just plain shock, seeping up into his bones. "How did you know I was there, anyway?"

"I didn't," Hawke leaned in, long arms snaking around him to secure her scavenged scarf and keep the makeshift bandage in place. His chin drifted down, lightly skimming the crown of her head before he just let his head drop, resting there completely. When she looked up at him, pulling back in surprise, he simply lolled forward, his cheek briefly grazing against hers.

"Varric? Varric!"

Oh, he'd closed his eyes again, hadn't he? They were slow to open up once more, "I'm not going anywhere, Hawke." He reassured her then smiled smugly, "Heh. Still smells like flowers."

"Whatever are you talking about?"

"Your hair," he explained, "Back in Kirkwall. Before you cut it off, it used to always smell like flowers. I never could figure out what kind." He frowned, "I never understood why you did that, either. Cut it, I mean."

"I was angry. I couldn't throttle Anders, so I did the next best thing," her words were clipped and she reached blindly for the backpack, trying to find something else to help. Anything.

"I knew that. But it wasn't your fault, Hawke. None of it. Just like this isn't." He raised a hand, rallying what strength he had left to forestalling the protests on her lips. It was too important and he was running out of time. "Shut up for a minute. There's a Seeker named Cassandra Pentaghast. She's looking for you. She says that she wants your help to stop the coming war and she seems to be honest…" He broke off, words stolen from him by a flood of white pain as Hawke took his second best pair of pants and wrapped them around his left leg. The world went black and gray around him and for an eternity all he could do was pant for breath.

He wasn't sure how long eternity lasted, exactly, but he eventually focused on Hawke, just in time to catch what she was saying with such false casualness, "…outside for a moment, Varric. I'm going to see what our dead friends might have in their pockets."

His hand shot out for her wrist. "No."

"Now, don't worry. I'll be back before you know it. While you may be new to these parts, I am familiar with that particular band of idiots. They usually travel prepared and one of them is sure to have a Health Potion on them."

"It's too dangerous," Varric struggled, "By now you can't see your hand in front of your face out there. And who knows how many of them are still around."

"You think I can't handle it then?" Hawke raised her brow, mock challengingly.

For once, Varric didn't play along. He exhaled, expression twisting. "You know I have full faith in your abilities to kick the ass of anyone that you see fit. But it's not the same when you are walking into a white out. Besides, I'll be fine. Really. I'm just … tired. A little rest, and…" He was trying to get up. If he could just stand, he could make her see reason. And if he could just get his legs to listen to him, if he could just make the world stop sliding away or pull through the pain, he could stand.

"Varric," Hawke exclaimed, alarmed, and quickly crossed back over to him. She crouched by his side and reached out to cup his cheek in her hand, guiding his attention and increasingly pale face back to her. "Don't you dare make things worse! There is no way I'm losing you, do you understand me? I'm going to go find a Healing Potion out there and you are going to be fine, alright? Nod."

He stopped struggling and nodded.

"So all I need you to worry about, all I need you to do right now, is to just stay awake. You stay awake, and keep breathing, and I'll be back. Alright? I'll be back and everything will be fine."

It was a funny thing about Hawke. When she really wanted to, she could make what she was saying sound like the most important thing in the world. "Okay," Varric said quietly. "I'll stay here."

She met his gaze and it took someone who knew her very well to see the fear in her eyes through the fierce determination. His mouth quirked up in an affectionate smirk. That was his Hawke.

She nodded firmly in acknowledgement before hesitating, as if pulled between one choice and another. Then she stood and without a backward glance left the cave to disappear into the snow.

Stay awake. It was easy. Sure, he could do that. All he had to do was start by keeping his eyes open. He could look at the mess Hawke had made of his backpack, for example. He'd been travelling light since he'd left the old Amell estate where the Seeker had interrogated him, so there wasn't much there. Weighing himself down with a lot of crap would have only made finding Hawke more difficult.

Of course, he hadn't lied to the Seeker. He honestly hadn't known where Hawke was.

But he certainly had known how to find her if needed.

Varric chuckled and began to replay all the new stories he had heard about the Champion over in his mind. There were at least a dozen of them, some more outrageous than others. He'd been collecting them, knowing that once he met up with her again they'd both amuse and annoy her.

And while he couldn't have said how long that occupied him, he thought he was doing a decent job in both obeying Hawke and keeping his worry under control. He continued to think that right up until he found himself tasting dirt and opened his eyes to discover his forehead against the stone floor.

He tried to pick himself up and was confused about why he couldn't… couldn't even get his hands to move. No, he wasn't drunk. He was waiting for Hawke, wasn't he?

He tried to pull the pieces together from an increasingly dense and drowning fog. That was right. Where was she? He had to find her. She should be there. It'd been … too long.

He shouldn't have left in the first place. It was stupid. No matter how much they'd needed to know what was going on in the world or how pointed Fenris' looks had been getting…

… but how could he have known how… colorless everything would be once she was gone? How much he'd come to …

…he shouldn't have left. Because now, now he needed to get to her. He couldn't remember why, but it was important.

It was important and he couldn't move, damn it. Frustration cut through even pain. Hawke was counting on him and he wasn't going to fail her…

Varric managed to actually drag himself halfway across the cave floor before he collapsed and lost consciousness completely.

And it was a long time before he was aware of anything else again.

"…come on, just drink it…"

While those were strange words to wake up to, Varric had woken up to stranger. Besides, the tang and slow heat of a Healing potion sliding down his throat were familiar enough sensations. The return of his awareness was heralded by the feeling of his own heartbeat, throbbing in his stomach and screaming along his leg. Once the first crests of agony were endured, however, each double-thump marked a steady diminishing of the pain. He began to breathe, deep, steady inhalations, once more.

"…stupid and stubborn…" Hawke's voice was strained. "Say something!"

He intended to, really. It was just that he was pretty comfortable at the moment. Sure, his legs were a little cold, but the rest of him was warm enough. Huh. He lifted his hand a few inches from the ground. That meant that she was holding him, didn't it? Sure enough, the small of his back was right up against her thigh and her arm was supporting him in a half-sitting position off the floor.

"…prefer the word determined," he rasped, opening up his eyes with a groan. He still ached, body protesting how it had been yanked from one extreme to the other. She was leaning over him closely, close enough that a hands breath could have spanned the distance between her lips and his.

Aw, hell, Hawke. Don't do this to me. He tore his eyes away with a quick breath and looked to the side.

He blinked. There, lying on his backpack as if she had been put down gently even in the midst of chaos, was Bianca. Wet, but no worse for wear.

Varric grinned and unthinkingly muttered in reverent awe, "Just when I thought I couldn't love you any more, Hawke."

Her hand, previously resting tensely but neutrally along his chest, balled into a fist.

Uh oh.

He looked sharply back at her, finding a stony mask where he would have expected a smile. Okay, that had apparently pissed her off. But he wasn't going to take it back, even if he hadn't meant to say it in the first place. "What?" He retorted, defensively.

She scowled and abruptly closed the distance between them, her mouth hard and demanding against his. He barely had time to register the kiss, much less participate in it, before she pulled back and pushed him away. "Don't you EVER do that to me again, got it, dwarf?"

He grunted, backside hitting unforgiving stone. Then he picked himself up, almost warily, eyes glued to hers. Her cheeks were tinged red, lips slightly parted as breath came more rapidly. But from her expression there was no way in hell she was going to explain herself any more than he had.

Varric slowly smirked, reaching conclusions that demanded that he either act, or regret it for the rest of his life. "Cross my heart." He agreed, deep voice smooth as silk as he gravely traced his finger over the left side of his chest.

It was one of the few times he'd ever seen Marian Hawke at a loss for words, or so openly blushing.

Which made it a lot easier to step in, take her in his arms, and show her exactly what he could do when he wasn't caught off guard in a kiss.

They held each other tightly, first a little frantic in their expressions, then a bit more leisurely, and then more urgently once more. Neither of them spared another thought for the coldness of the cave, Varric's blood stiffening in his clothing, or anything else at all about world around them.

… until a familiar elven voice, bearing audible worry as it called Hawke's name, carried into the cave on a chill gust of wind.


End file.
